


Nine Companions (+ a few more)

by shaniacbergara



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, College, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, gonna be cute idk what you want from me, it's just
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26054929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaniacbergara/pseuds/shaniacbergara
Summary: Some are professors, some are students, all are struggling to get their lives together, don't we love to see it?
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Aragorn | Estel/Boromir (Son of Denethor II), Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee, Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf, Merry Brandybuck/Pippin Took, Éowyn/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 51





	1. First Days

Aragorn would be having none of his colleague’s shit today. He told himself this every time they began a new semester. He would hold himself to a high standard. He would take none of their shit.

Within minutes of arriving in his office, he’d already broken one of these fundamental principles. 

“Can you believe what that insensitive idiot did?!” Gimli burst into his office, five foot two he came in with enough aggression that anyone would believe he was six foot four. “He has the gall to use MY paper as quoted opposition to his research, and doesn’t even give me a courtesy call?” Aragorn pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Come right in, Dr. Gloinson. Please make yourself at home.” Gimli, who already had his boots on Aragorn’s desk, looked aghast.

“Nothing to say to my righteous indignation, lad?” He demanded, his beard bristling. Aragorn sighed, and smiled in spite of himself. For all of his grumbling and cursing, he’d missed his friends. 

“Gimli, Legolas is an environmental scientist. I doubt he used anything you had to say in any of his work in a negative capacity.” He quipped, turning toward the coffee machine. Gimli huffed and reached into his bag. 

“Look at this!”

“You look.” Which was all the permission Gimli needed.

“He quoted MY research saying that although much research, MY research, mind you, has been done regarding sediment distribution in soil, that it will not bear much impact on the growth of his precious miracle plants!” Aragorn set a mug of black coffee in front of the bundle of fury, and sat in his own chair.

“That doesn’t sound negative.” He attempted to reason, a fool’s errand before it even began. Gimli was a geologist, and taught in the science department. By the strangest twist of fate, he and Aragorn had ended up at a faculty mixer together. Legolas Greenleaf, the man currently absent from his own trial, had dragged Aragorn along. He hadn’t been able to get rid of the pair of them ever since. He’d considered taking up some of their disputes with the head of the Natural Sciences Department, but Dr. Grey had a tendency to be spacey at best. After a while, he found he almost enjoyed the banter. 

“Doesn’t sound negative?!” Gimli was huffing when Legolas himself entered. He was tall where Gimli was short, smooth-faced and young. His long blonde hair was tied up in a bun, and as always he carried his tumbler full of green tea.

“Ah, I see you’ve found my most recent work.” He didn’t even bother saying hello to the pair, simply took the other seat in the office, and leaned back, looking smug.

“I see you’re still leaving insulting bread crumbs for me to find!” Gimli spat back. Aragorn shook his head, they were too easy to work up, too amusing to observe. He sat back, and watched as they bickered, sipping his own coffee, fully content. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Frodo was having a rotten morning. He’d forgotten his umbrella, and there was nothing to save his curls from the light drizzle that had picked up outside. He’d left his lunch back at home, and while he was well aware that his uncle would be perfectly willing to take him to lunch, he was doing his level best to set out on his own, and to top it all off, he’d stubbed his toe, hard, on his book bag. It had to have been one of his textbooks, and he was worried it would surely be broken. What could one do for a broken toe? 

All in all, he entered his first class damper, hungrier, and crankier than he’d intended. He searched through his backpack, only to discover that of course he’d forgotten his pencil case. He’d been writing late into the night, and must have abandoned it on his desk at home. He slumped down into a seat, and didn’t notice the pair of eyes on him until someone waved a hand in front of him. 

“Hello?” Frodo looked up to see the most pleasant face he could ever imagine looking back at him. The man had curly blonde hair, cheeks like apples, and a kindness in his eyes that Frodo trusted immediately. The man smiled warmly when their eyes met, and Frodo’s stomach lurched. 

“Hi.” Frodo said, then cursed himself for his clumsiness. He was a Creative Writing major, for heaven’s sake. He could do better than “hi.”

“Hi.” The man said, smiling, not seeming to mind Frodo’s brief encounter with in-eloquence. “Are you alright?” 

He sounded so genuine, so concerned, so honest when he said it, that Frodo spilled everything immediately.

“I know this all doesn’t sound like a big deal but I’m trying to prove that I can do this, everyone was worried about me going off to university they even set me up to live with my uncle, which, don’t get me wrong, is amazing, but I just.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to start off poorly.” 

The man smiled, and held up a finger. Frodo paused in his tirade to watch him dig around in his own backpack. He emerged a moment later, bearing a pencil, a pen, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Frodo’s mouth hung open.

“I always have extra.” The man said, smiling broadly again. Frodo’s hands shook as he accepted the gifts. “I’m Sam, by the way.” He held out a pudgy hand as the professor arrived, bustling up the side of the room to take her spot in front of the board. Frodo took it.

“I’m Frodo.”


	2. Second Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> look. LOOK. It's just self indulgence. Talk to me over at with-shameless-wonder on tumblr if you're into it??

Faramir composed what felt like the thousandth email to his professors. He copy and pasted the format from the source he’d found online, added his name, his pronouns, and his class title, and sent them off. It didn’t feel empowering, it didn’t feel good at all. It felt like he was causing a fuss, making a bad name for himself before he even started classes. Though, he supposed, he hadn’t met a professor who had given him any trouble for it yet.

Boromir was already seated at the kitchen table when Faramir emerged from his room. His older brother was handsome, broad chested and strong jawed. Faramir felt like a shrimp compared to him, despite the fact that since he’d moved here for school they’d been working out together several times a week. Boromir looked up as he entered.

“Nice shirt.” He said, setting down his coffee and standing. It was Boromir’s old shirt, he’d done an entire closet overhaul when Faramir had come out, and all of his hand-me-downs had gone to his little brother. He squinted at Faramir, and pointed down at his shirt. “You’ve got a spot though.” Faramir looked down in alarm, had he eaten something? But Boromir just flicked his nose, laughing heartily. “Every time!” Faramir rolled his eyes.

“Very funny.” He glowered. 

“Thank you, I’m aware.” Boromir sat back down. “What have you got today, then?” Faramir poured himself a cup of coffee, now acutely uncomfortable facing this question.

“Um.” He said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I’ve got, um.” He turned back to his brother, and saw him, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “I’ve got Ancient History with Dr. Elessar.” He said it in a rush, running a hand through his wavy red hair. Boromir laughed.

“Aragorn?” He chuckled. Faramir nodded, nervous. “Faramir, I’m just surprised you haven’t had a class with him yet. You’re a senior history major, have you been avoiding his courses?” Faramir refused to answer. “Kid, Aragorn and I broke up an age ago, there’s no hard feelings.”

“You never talk about him! Does he even go to the cafe anymore?” Faramir insisted. Boromir owned one of the kitchy cafes on the campus, and had met Aragorn when the professor became a regular. 

“No, but can you blame him? Anyone who’s seen my dick and met our dad knows to get out of dodge fast enough.” Boromir laughed again, and reached over to ruffle Faramir’s hair. That was fair, in Faramir’s opinion. But their father loved Boromir. He had always been the favorite. When Boromir had come out as gay, his father went all out to show his support. This had, of course, lulled Faramir into a false sense of security. Things hadn’t gone well when he’d come out, which led to a hasty move, and Boromir converting his home office into a second bedroom. Meeting their father hadn’t been why Aragorn and Boromir had split, but it was a running joke between the two of them.

“I just didn’t want it to be weird.” Faramir said, shrugging.

“Everything about you is weird.” Boromir landed a soft punch on his brother’s arm, before standing and rinsing out his mug. “I’ve got to run, but don’t worry about Aragorn. You’ll be fine, he’ll be fine, and with any luck, we won’t ever even have to interact.” Farmir doubted he could be so lucky.

Merry grunted as he awoke suddenly to someone’s elbow pressing down on his stomach. 

“Hey!” He grunted, and shoved Pippin off of the bed and onto the floor. A dramatic feat, as the bed was lofted and Pippin ended up falling quite a ways before impact.

“What was that for?” Pippin demanded, scrambling to his feat and rubbing his bum where he’d landed.

“If you’re going to share my bed you can’t elbow me in the ribs first thing in the morning!” Merry insisted, rubbing his own stomach. 

“It’s morning, you were showing no signs of waking up and I’m starving!”

“You’re always starving.”

“True, but the dining hall’s open and I’m craving apple pie.”

“For breakfast?”

“Now you’re criticizing my breakfast choices?” Pippin grinned at him, a twinkle in his eye.

Pippin straightened the pillows on his own unused bed before stripping right down to his skin and wandering about, looking for something to put on. Merry grumbled, but got out of bed as well, heading over to the sink to brush his teeth. He’d only just started when Pippin hip-checked him out of the way, mussing up his hair. 

They did, in the end, get themselves out of their dorm room, very nearly in one piece, and walked arm and arm down the street to the dining hall. Pippin settled for blueberry pie, in the end, while Merry opted for a responsible breakfast of cereal and coffee. Pippin grabbed a chocolate milk before they scouted a spot to sit.

They say opposite each other, playing footsie under the table and eating their breakfast. Merry was already considering weekend plans, thinking of a party or some trouble they could get into on Saturday evening. Pippin wasn’t thinking of much beyond wondering if any of his professors would mind if he used his fidget cube or silly putty during class. Other than that passing thought, mostly he sang the lyrics of Rick Astley over and over again in his head. Their silence was only interrupted when Merry’s phone buzzed on the table. He turned it over, brow furrowed.

“It’s Sam.” He grinned. Merry and Pippin had met Sam the previous year in one of their classes, and had more or less refused to quit pestering the poor man ever since. 

“Oh, we ought to say hello to him later on.” Pippin thought aloud. Pippin and Merry often spoke in “we” statements, and were rarely found without each other. Pippin was a music major, and Merry majored in accounting, so their schedules differed, but they were sure to take classes at the same times, and, when they could, chose the same electives. Pippin looked up to find Merry grinning broadly. “What is it?”

“It seems,” Merry said, clearly savoring the moment, “that our dear old Sam has met the love of his life."


	3. Floating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im GAY

Sam was smitten. There was simply no doubt about it. It was the eyes. No, the curls. No, the nose! He didn’t care. It was all of it at once. The way he spoke, the shock in his eyes, the twitch at the corner of his mouth. Sam was utterly and completely done for. He’d been a realist, at one point in his life. He hadn’t believed in love at first sight, had been sure that was a completely invented concept. Then again, he’d been wrong before. He’d also thought he was in love with Rosie, the bartender in his hometown, and it turns out she was just as gay as he was. 

He’d texted Merry because sometimes people make poor decisions. He’d received a reply, and a promise that they’d catch up soon. He hadn’t anticipated them tracking him down to his last class of the day. They appeared on either side of him, almost out of nowhere. 

“So.” Merry began, a smile on his face that made Sam feel quite certain he was in some kind of trouble.

“Tell us all about him.” Pippin finished, and they steered him toward the high street. It didn’t take Sam long to figure out where they were going. Their favorite pub was just up the way from Sam’s last class.

“It’s three o’clock on a Wednesday.” Sam pointed out, rather unnecessarily. It didn’t change anything, they were already inside the pub.

“So?” Pippin asked, nonplussed.

“So some of us have to be up early.” Sam was an agricultural science major, and had a part time job at a greenhouse a little ways away from campus. He loved his job as much as he loved his classes, but it did have him up early more often than not.

“You’re the one who decided to be a gardening major.” Merry clapped him on the back. “Three Golden Monkeys, please.” He added to the approaching barman. 

“It’s agricultural science and you know it.” Sam grumbled. Merry’s teasing was harmless. 

“You’re avoiding the topic at hand.” Pippin pointed out, accepting his beer as the barman returned. “Tell us about him!” Sam took a deep breath.

“He’s…” he paused. “Amazing.”

“The man meets one freshman without a lunch and suddenly he’s all starry-eyed.” Merry joked before taking a sip of his own beer.

“He forgot more than his lunch. He looked shocked by almost everything, but maybe that’s because his eyes are so big. And so blue.” Sam grinned into his cup. “Have I told you about his hair?”

“His hair.” Merry repeated, catching Pippin’s eye. 

“It’s so curly, such perfect ringlets. And it was wet too. Didn’t look frizzy like mine does when it’s wet, it was still so nice. And he had this great style. I wonder if he lives on campus.” Sam rambled.

“Don’t go scaring him by showing up at his dorm.” Pippin piped up, swinging his feet underneath the barstool. The tip of his shoe nudged Sam’s leg with every swing, but he didn’t mind in the slightest. Pippin had never been excellent with physical boundaries, but Sam had learned to roll with it.

“I wouldn’t, but that’s rich talk coming from you. You show up unannounced at my dorm all the time.” Sam scowled at him.

“Yes, but we’re not trying to get in your pants.” Merry clarified, grinning mischievously at Sam.

“It’s not like that!” Sam insisted.

“Then what’s it like?” Merry asked, raising his bushy eyebrows. 

“I don’t know how to explain it.” Sam thought of Frodo’s eyes. Thought of the glint, the shimmer he’d seen in them. How he’d given him his sandwich and had immediately wanted to give him everything. “Something...just...happened. Something changed.” 

Merry had heard Sam talk about crushes. Had laughed with him when he’d described his fruitless pursuit of Rosie Cotton. Had been delighted when Sam shared how much he’d blushed when his partner on a project had given him his number. He’d thought he’d seen Sam fall in and out of love, but he’d realized it had all been an infatuation. He squinted at the man, miserably sipping his beer. Crushed with the weight of this sudden affliction of love, his cheeks rosy, his eyebrows upturned. He decided, right then and there, that he would get them together if it cost him his sanity. Pippin, near enough insane already, would certainly be along for the ride.

“Sam.” He said, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. “Let’s get you a boyfriend.” 

*******************************************

“Okay, so, this Ancient History. I don’t call roll in this class because for fuck’s sake there’s only eight of you. Nobody takes Ancient History unless you’re actually into history. I’m assuming you’ll all make an effort to come.” Aragorn looked out at the class, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut. The kid was a history major, this was bound to happen sooner or later. It’d help if he didn’t look so much like his brother. The last time he’d seen him, the resemblance had been slightly less striking. Now, however? It was striking. “Just so you’re all aware, that will be the only time you hear me curse in class. Outside of class is another matter altogehter.”

Aragorn didn’t waste any time before beginning his lecture. He started right in, and his few students took copious notes. They were a vocal bunch, not bothering to raise their hands, just asking questions outright. In such a small class, this was how Aragorn preferred things to run. Everyone except Faramir contributed. That troubled him. 

“Okay, so, here’s the syllabus, since I fear that might be important.” He passed them out quickly. “If anyone has any questions about it, or needs clarification, you should feel free to come see me, or to email me. I’d rather you ask questions than fall behind.” He let them go five minutes early, but called out. “Ah, Mr. Steward, could I have a word?” Faramir jumped about a foot in the air, as he had been hastily shoving his books into his bag, clearly eager to make a quick escape. He slunk up to Aragorn’s desk.

“Doctor Elessar?” He asked, shuffling his feet, his eyes on the tips of his converse. 

“Faramir.” He said, grinning at him. He’d always liked Faramir. He’d always liked Boromir, too, to be entirely fair. “I’m not going to tell you off, Faramir.” Finally, the kid looked at him, nerves evident on his face. Faramir had had a rough go of it, and Aragorn’s heart, ever tender, broke a little bit for him. “I want you to feel free to speak up in class.”

“I just-” Faramir rubbed at his arm. “I didn’t want things to be weird. I know I’m probably not going to be your favorite student.” Aragorn frowned.

“Faramir.” He scolded, being sure to keep his voice firm, but gentle. “You are my student. What happened between me and Boromir will not affect you in the slightest, but I really must insist on your participation.” He grinned at him. “The class deserves to hear from you.” Faramir raised his eyebrows. “I mean it. I’ve heard good things about you from other professors-yes, we gossip about students all the time.” Faramir grinned, and Aragorn mirrored him. 

“I’ll try, Dr. Elessar.” He promised.

“That’s all I can ask for.” He assured him, and waved him out the door.

He watched Faramir hurry down the hall, and was so wrapped up in his own thoughts as he took the longer route back to his office that he didn’t even notice that he was on a collision course. He hit Dr. Undomiel square on, sending his papers flying everywhere.

“Elrond!” He exclaimed, surprised. “I am so sorry, don’t know where my head is!” He stooped to help his head of department gather up his papers. Elrond’s eyebrows, already intense, were furrowed. 

“Tough class, Aragorn?” He asked, giving him what almost resembled a grin.

“Just a lot to think about.” Aragorn replied.

Aragorn was convinced that Elrond had been born frowning. He was a great deal older than Aragorn, nearly as old as Dr. Grey, but where Dr. Grey had smile lines, Elrond had worry lines. They stood back up, and only then did Aragorn realize that Elrond wasn’t alone. Next to him stood the most beautiful woman Aragorn had ever beheld. Her skin was perfect, with long black braids falling down to her waist, and a bright, but serene smile on her lovely face. 

“Ah.” Was all he could think to say.

“Oh yes.” Elrond said, still with that disturbing non-smile on his face. “This is my daughter, Arwen. She’s just begun a new job down the street, and I threatened her into meeting me for coffee.” Arwen seemed to glow with pride, with joy, with a secret joke. 

“It’s wonderful to meet you.” She said, far more eloquently than he’d managed to be. She smiled and Aragorn felt like he was floating. All of his concerns seemed to melt.

“Yes.” He stuttered out, and promptly wanted to kick himself. She held out her hand, and he took it, feeling like he was in a dream.

“Well, we’d better be off.” Elrond said, promptly stalking away. Arwen remained behind, Aragorn’s hand still in her own. She smiled at him again.

“Aragorn.” She said, looking up at him with striking eyes. “I’d like to meet you again.” Aragorn could only nod. She blinked, and let go of his hand, turning and following her father down the hall. Aragorn stood, rooted to the spot for a moment, feeling utterly and completely out of his depth.

“Shit.”


	4. Homely House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> look........i have no excuses

Sam had been looking forward to his creative writing elective all week. He’d been so eager, so excited. Armed with Merry’s insistence and Pippin’s positivity, he felt ready to see Frodo again. He sat, knee bouncing, in the classroom, a full thirty minutes before class was meant to begin. As it happened, Frodo was early that day, rather than rushing, and he looked far more put together. He seemed pleased to see Sam, which bolstered Sam’s spirits considerably.

“Hi.” Frodo offered, taking his seat next to Sam. Sam felt like a golden retriever wagging his tail as he smiled at him.

“Hi!” He grinned. “Remember your lunch this time?” Frodo’s cheeks flushed. In actuality, he was worried Sam was mocking him, worried he’d look like an idiot if he continued. But he felt so drawn in, so safe, so comforted by Sam’s presence he couldn’t help but smile despite his hammering heart.

“Actually, yes.” He looked down at his hands. Small, Sam realized. He wanted to envelop his hands within his own. “Thank you, for last week.” Sam grinned.

“Anytime.” Frodo’s own knee began to bounce underneath the desk. He ruffled his hair, drummed his fingers on the desk, looked around the classroom. Nervous. Very nearly frightened. Bilbo had encouraged him to try to make friends, to try to branch out. He wished he was back in his room with his books and his journal, but Sam was still smiling, and that was enough for now. 

“Are you…” he hesitated. Was asking what Sam’s major was too cliche? He bit down on his lip, frustrated. “I’m a…” he paused again. Sam was leaning in towards him. His green eyes were flecked with brown, gorgeous and honest and true. He met him halfway.

“Are you a creative writing major?” Sam asked, watching as Frodo breathed out a sigh. Frodo just nodded and Sam looked so pleased with his answer Frodo nearly ran from the room right then and there. “That’s amazing.” He added, looking like he meant it. “I could never do that, I’m taking this class as an elective. I think it’s good to get a wide variety of classes in your schedule, don’t you?” 

Frodo looked at him, relaxing slowly. He nodded again.

“I tried to take ballet one year, but it turns out I don’t have very good balance.” Sam grinned. “I took a different elective instead and met some of my best friends, it’s always a nice way to meet people with different majors, too.” He babbled, looking at Frodo. Frodo, he noted with some joy, was looking back at him, his big blue eyes peering at him from under the shock of curly brown hair. “Have you always wanted to be a writer?” Frodo nodded.

“My uncle.” He swallowed, nervous, but Sam just nodded encouragingly. “My uncle is a writer, I’ve always admired him, but...I think…” He paused, steeling himself. “I think I have something to say, too.” Sam beamed at him, utterly delighted.

“I think you do, too.” His eyes crinkled at the sides, his cheeks pressed up in his smile. Frodo melted, just a bit, just enough to make him feel at ease.

The professor interrupted them, the class had filled around them without either of them noticing. Sam and Frodo stole glances at each other all the way through class, nervously sizing each other up, checking in, grinning and sighing. After class, Frodo meant to just disappear, but Sam had a plan, and he’d been talking himself up all weekend trying to get ready to carry it out.

“Hey,” he said, following Frodo out the door. He caught up with him, walking alongside him. Frodo looked like he was close to smiling, but thought better of it.

“Hey.” Sam couldn’t stop smiling, his cheeks were going to hurt if he kept this up for too long.

“So, okay. I don’t know if you’re into this, but my friends are having a movie night this week, and I wanted to know if you’d like to come.” He asked, following the script he had practiced all weekend.

“Your friends?” Frodo repeated, shocked that anyone would want to spend more time with him than absolutely necessary. 

“Just two of them. And us two. If you want!” He asked, thoroughly deviating from his calm plan. “It’ll be relaxed. Some pizza. Some beer. Some good movies.” He willed himself to stop talking. “This weekend, Saturday night?” 

Frodo paused, thinking of his bed, thinking of how desperately he wanted to be back in his room, thinking of his uncle, thinking of wanting to see Sam every second of every day, worrying about that very possibility. He thought, carefully, before he answered.

“Yes. I think I’d like that.” Sam looked like Frodo had just given him the moon on a silver platter. 

“Let me give you my number.” Sam said, very nearly sounding smooth. Before Frodo had to rush off to his next class, they’d exchanged numbers, and Sam had promised to text him before the end of the day. As it was, Sam was already frantically texting Merry before Frodo was more than a few steps away. Frodo, for his own part, sent a text to an elated Bilbo before resuming his rigid schedule. 

It was, very nearly, a date.

***********************************************************

Boromir had a mission of his own, and he’d carry it out if it killed him. He and Faramir were at the gym before Faramir headed back to his afternoon class. Boromir had received a visitor at his cafe the previous week who had implored him to hand up a flyer on his bulletin board. Boromir, loving the enthusiasm, had agreed. When he’d seen what the flyer was for, doubled down. They were in the middle of a set when he brought it up.

“Yknow, I heard about a club you might be into.” He said, spotting Faramir as he did his chest presses.

“Hmm?” Faramir grunted, sweating.

“Did you know there’s something called a Queer Student Union?” Faramir nearly dropped the weight. Boromir caught it deftly, and returned it to safety.

“What the fuck.” Faramir deadpanned. 

“Have you heard about it?” Boromir asked, aiming for innocence and missing completely. 

“How do you know about this?” Faramir said, attempting to pretend he hadn’t been following the QSU’s instagram for months and fooling absolutely nobody.

“Someone dropped off a flyer at The White Tree.” Boromir noted. The White Tree was widely regarded as the favorite cafe on campus. Boromir hosted weekly poetry nights and, when he had been approached about the possibility of hosting a drag brunch, had enthusiastically signed on to throw one monthly. It was no wonder the QSU had approached him to put up flyers. “Have you thought about it?”

“No.” Faramir lied. 

“Well. If you haven’t thought about it…” Boromir said, not buying it. “You wouldn’t know that they meet on Thursdays in the lobby of the Edoras building.” 

“What a coincidence that today is Thursday.” Faramir noted, dryly.

“What a coincidence that their meeting happens to be right after your last class of the day.” Faramir sat up, thoroughly irritated. 

“I don’t want to go.” He lied again.

“Okay,” said Boromir pretending to concede. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t.” Faramir concluded.

A few hours later found Faramir pacing the entrance to the Edoras building, his heart in his throat. If you go in there, everyone will know, he thought to himself. Everyone already knows anyway, another equally unhelpful side of himself added. 

He was just about to turn back when a tall woman, wearing boots up to her knees, with long beautiful blonde hair that fell in waves around her beautiful flushed face, approached the entrance. 

“Oh for heaven’s sake, look at you.” She said, sizing him up. They were of a height, but Faramir felt dwarfed under her gaze. “Come on, I know you want to come in.” She looked at him, a question in her eyes. Faramir took a deep breath, then nodded. “Alright then, let’s go.” She grabbed his arm and led him in. She led him to a table, one of many set up. Most of them were already full of smiling, kind-eyed people who glanced gently at him as he entered. She sat him down.

“Thank you.” He managed, and she smiled.

“I’m Eowyn.” She informed him, and his heart melted into a puddle. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, you can just listen. We’ll mostly meet-and-greet.” She handed him a name tag. “Name and pronouns, please.” She turned tail and marched to the heads of the table, greeting a few people as she passed. 

He did as instructed, sticking his nametag to his shirt. “Faramir-he/him/his.” He looked around, seeing names, given and taken, and pronouns of all kinds, proudly stuck to chests. His heart stuttered in his chest. He grinned and exhaled. He’d have to tell Boromir about this. He’d have to tell Boromir about her.


	5. Will of A Wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's about the tenderness

Bilbo wasn’t prepared for guests. He barely even got the sound of scraping boots on the landing to alert him that company was on the way. Bilbo was a planner by nature, he prided himself on throwing the most excellent dinner parties for miles around, he prided himself on keeping a well-organized home and a well-stocked bar. He prided himself on not leaving the house until he was sure he looked his best. However, his friends, somehow, were the most chaotic group, none more so than Dr. Gandalf Grey, who had a penchant for showing up unannounced and talking Bilbo into all manner of poorly thought-out adventures.

There was a loud knock at his door, no doubt the old man was hammering away at it with his cane. Bilbo sighed, thinking of the door mat, the well polished handle, and wishing Gandalf would show just a touch more caution.

“I’m not here!” He called from his bedroom, hastily tucking in his shirt and buttoning up his waistcoat. He looked around, but couldn’t seem to locate his pocket handkerchief. He shrugged it off, well aware that this would irritate him for the rest of the day. The knocking continued. “I don’t want to buy anything!”

“Bilbo Baggins you will open the door for your very old friend or I will blow it off its hinges myself!” Bilbo rolled his eyes at the dramatics. 

Gandalf simultaneously liked to play the feeble old man card while remaining well aware he was still able to threaten most people effectively. Bilbo gave up his search, and went to the door. Upon opening it, Bilbo was alarmed to discover that Gandalf looked to be about to resume his knocking, and had to narrowly dodge getting struck about the shins. Gandalf, to his credit, smiled at him, his blue eyes twinkling beneath his bushy grey eyebrows.

They hugged, as they always did. Bilbo was a great deal younger than Gandalf, but both of them were at an age where they recognized how good it was to have the opportunity to see old friends, even if these old friends lived in the same town. Gandalf had been Bilbo’s first friend in the city, after he’d fled from his hometown. He’d been young, and lost, and afraid, and Gandalf had been older, experienced, wiser. They’d been fast friends. 

“Ahh, now let me look at you.” Gandalf greeted him, putting a hand on his head and looking down at him. “Same as ever, I’m going to give you wrinkles, yet.” Bilbo smiled. 

“Come in, then.” He began bustling instantaneously. “I’ve put the kettle on. I don’t suppose you’d want anything to eat? I’m not prepared for guests though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve just shown up. I’m surprised you knocked, wouldn’t put it past you to pick the lock so you can come and go as you please. I could make sandwiches, we have some chicken leftover from the roast the other day. Or maybe there’s some cheese I could put out. We’ve got some plums, what do you feel like?” Bilbo had begun rummaging around in the pantry but when he emerged he found Gandalf sitting at his kitchen table, a glass of red wine in one hand and an apple in the other. He scowled at him. “I suppose that will do. I don’t suppose you were going to offer me a glass?” Gandalf nodded towards an already full glass in front of the seat next to him. Bilbo shook his head.

They chatted amiably for a few minutes, catching up about work. Bilbo’s writing was progressing, if slowly. He wouldn’t settle for anything but perfection, and if he was going to write about an adventure he’d have to make it convincing. Gandalf had started the new semester, and spent quite a bit of time detailing the sexually-tense rivalry two members of his department were currently experiencing. He seemed amused, as he often did, about the minute details of other’s lives. Finally, though, he could no longer beat around the bush.

“I’ve come to see how you are.” Gandalf told him, bluntly. Bilbo grimaced.

“What do you mean by that?” He demanded, straightening up just a tad.

“You know what I mean.” Gandalf glared back. “You’ve got a kid in this house. His parents are long gone, his aunts and cousins despise him, and now he’s here. In your house. Under your roof. How are you holding up?” In Lobelia’s defense, Bilbo didn’t think she’d hated Frodo. His parents hadn’t left a will, and she hadn’t known how to handle a depressed, traumatized kid. Throw in the poor boy’s coming out, she hadn’t been equipped. She’d sent him to Bilbo, so that he could house him through university. When he’d arrived, Frodo had seemed surprised that rather than simply ignoring him, Bilbo had helped lay out ways for him to succeed, had made an appointment with a therapist and, when Frodo hadn’t liked him, made an appointment with another one. He’d always liked Frodo, he knew he came from the side of the family that were a little more odd. He knew what it was like to be an outcast from the family, and he hadn’t hesitated to take Frodo under his wing.

“He’s a good kid.” Bilbo said, the only honest answer he could muster. He was overwhelmed, between trying to keep Frodo on track, monitoring the kid’s mental health as best he could, and turning his apartment from that of a past-middle-aged gay man to a livable apartment for a college student, he barely had any time to get work done. He didn’t mind, he’d do it all a thousand times, but he was exhausted. “I’m not sure if he likes me very much.” Gandalf considered him.

“What makes you say that?” He asked, brows furrowed.

“He’s always so quiet. I haven’t had to relate to a student since I was one.” An idea occurred to Bilbo as he was speaking. “Though, you teach students around Frodo’s age, don’t you? What do you think I should do?” Bilbo knew, in his heart of hearts, that Gandalf had never led him astray before. Gotten him in trouble, certainly. Put him in difficult situations, of course. Very nearly risked his neck, it was possible. But he’d always made the right call, in the end. Gandalf looked into his eyes, and Bilbo could practically see the wheels turning in his brain.

“Have you ever considered getting a tattoo?”

**************************************************************************

Thorin’s shop was empty. An anomaly for him. Usually he was booked solid, with a few lulls. Today, though? It was as if it was magically slow. He grumbled about the shop, wiping down chairs for the thousandth time, reorganizing his books, ensuring that the art on the walls was hung perfectly straight. He’d even called Fili to let him know that he and his brother shouldn’t come in to help out that day. He considered going out for fresh air, he considered taking a nap behind the counter. Nothing appealed to him.

Finally, blessedly, the bell tinkled above his door. He turned to find what appeared to be the world’s most gentle looking man coming through the door. Thorin’s eyebrows shot up as he imagined countless tattoos that would suit the man. A floral sleeve, or something for that sort, perhaps. He subconsciously flexed his own biceps, which were encircled by a mountain scene. 

“Ah, hi.” Bilbo called out from the doorway, taking in Thorin’s form. Good lord. He’d never seen anyone quite so handsome. He looked like he could bench press Bilbo if he tried. He was already blushing and the man hadn’t even spoken yet. 

“Welcome.” Thorin replied, a glint of amusement in his eye. He briefly considered setting all professionalism aside and requesting to ravish this man immediately, but kept himself in check. He hurried back behind the counter. “What brings you in?” The man looked confused, scrunching up his face in a way that made him look, if possible, even more adorable than he had before. “I’ll pierce almost any part of your body.”

Bilbo was still rather shaken up from hearing the man’s voice. It sounded like the rumble of thunder, it reminded him of the way the ground shakes before an earthquake, it made him feel unsteady in the best possible way. 

“A tattoo!” He insisted, wanting desperately not to think about where on earth the man might pierce him. “I want a tattoo.” Words he genuinely never anticipated hearing himself say poured from his mouth. The larger man smiled and Bilbo felt sure he would pass out. 

“Ah, of course.” Bilbo felt like his spine was vibrating, was that normal? He just wanted his nephew to think he was cool, what on earth was happening? “Come, sit.” He led him over to one of the chairs, and Bilbo sat, twisting his hands together. He wished he had his handkerchief. “I’m Thorin.” Thorin offered out a hand, and Bilbo took it, feeling calluses and rough skin beneath his own smooth palm. How long was a handshake supposed to last? Was this too long?

“Bilbo, at your service.” He replied, and immediately realized what an idiot he must have sounded like.

“Actually I think you’ll find I’m at yours.” Thorin chuckled, thoroughly endeared. “What did you have in mind?” 

Bilbo reached into his pocket and pulled out the photo. Immediately every thought of florals or book quotations Thorin had expected flew out of his brain. His heart gave a funny backflip. 

“An acorn?” Thorin wondered.

“This acorn.” Bilbo confirmed. Thorin raised an eyebrow. “It’s...it’s from my old garden, from before I moved to the city.” Bilbo was aware that this definitely did not require a backstory, but he continued. “I often miss it, but I know that when I came here I had...well...more hope, I’ve grown quite a bit from this acorn, you see.” 

“I see.” And rather than sounding dismissive, as Bilbo had anticipated, he sounded very nearly touched. “First tattoo?” Bilbo nodded. “I can do this for you.”

He got to work, and all in all, it took far less time than Bilbo had anticipated to get something inked permanently onto his skin. He admired Thorin as he worked. They chatted, amiably, and Bilbo nearly relaxed, were it not for the scratching against his wrist. 

“How did you hear about my shop?” Thorin asked, genuinely interested. First-timers were either entirely too careful or entirely not careful enough about their choice of shop. Bilbo didn’t seem the type not to research.

“Ah, a friend of mine told me about it.” He admitted, running a hand through his caramel curls. Thorin kept his hair up to work, but Bilbo could help but imagine what it might feel like to run his hands through it. 

“Who?” Thorin said, nodding and grinning.

“His name is Gandalf? Grey?” Bilbo informed him, and Thorin had to lift the tattoo gun away from Bilbo’s arm to keep himself from making a mistake. That meddler. Gandalf was always up to something. Bilbo’s face was so hopeful, though. So relaxed, so genuine. Thorin considered him. If Gandalf was indeed up to something nefarious, he decided he simply didn’t care. He’d take his blessings where he could find them. 

When they’d finished, Bilbo thanked him profusely, staring at the art now gracing his inner right wrist. He made to pay, but Thorin stopped him.

“Don’t worry about it.” He said, holding up a hand.

“I insist!” Bilbo protested, making to open his wallet again.

“And I refuse. It was too slow a day and too nice to meet you. I enjoyed this session far too much.” He said, truthfully. Bilbo thought about that.

“Well, if that’s the case…” He said, scrunching up his nose, which brought adorable bunnies to Thorin’s mind far too readily. “You must allow me to take you to dinner.”


	6. Comfy Nights and Coffee Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is only partially inspired by the time my gf found out i sometimes put hot chocolate in my coffee

Frodo was fretting. It seemed like that was all he did these days. His knee was bouncing underneath the dinner table, and he felt like he could barely chew. He wanted to hide underneath his covers and not emerge for several days. Bilbo had shown him his new tattoo, and was telling him about his experience with the man at the parlor. Frodo gulped. His uncle was leagues cooler than he was. He wished he was brave enough to do anything of that sort. He looked up at him to find that Bilbo had stopped speaking. He gulped again.

“Frodo, my lad?” Bilbo asked, looking at him quizzically. “Is everything quite alright?” 

“I have plans tonight!” Frodo burst out in a rush before promptly burying his head in his hands. He peeked out at his uncle from between his fingers to gauge his reaction. Bilbo was positively beaming. 

“You do?” Bilbo asked, cheerfully. This was a tone Frodo knew quite well by now, it was Bilbo’s I-am-happy-with-your-progress-but-don’t-want-you-to-feel-pressure-or-to-know-I’m-pleasantly-surprised voice. Bilbo wasn’t fooling anyone, but Frodo appreciated the effort. He nodded, bringing his hands back down. Now that the confession was out, it was easier to eat. Bilbo’s cooking was excellent. When he’d learned Frodo was a vegetarian, he’d completely restocked his kitchen, and had been practicing and perfecting meatless recipes ever since. 

“I’m…” Frodo could feel the tips of his ears heating up and hoped his curls were hiding them. “I’m going to a movie night.” Bilbo looked like he’d float away from happiness.

“Well, I think that’s marvelous.” Bilbo said earnestly. “With who?”

“Someone I...know from class? And? His friends?” Frodo skirted around the answer only slightly, Bilbo wasn’t fooled. His eyebrows raised just a hair.

“I see.” He nodded, sagely. “Would this someone be, perhaps, someone you might like?”

“UNCLE!” Frodo was certain he was scarlet, Bilbo chuckled.

“You don’t have to talk about it until you’d like to.” He reassured his nephew, still grinning widely. “I think that’s a great idea, it might be nice to get out and have some fun!” Frodo nodded. 

They cleaned up their dinner mess together, and Frodo took one more look in the mirror before heading out. His hand was on the door knob when Bilbo called him back. 

“Frodo?” Frodo went back into the den, where Bilbo stood, smiling at him. He beckoned him over. Bilbo put his hands on either side of Frodo’s face, and let them hang there for a moment. He looked at Frodo, a question in his eyes, and Frodo nodded. Bilbo gently touched his face, and guided his head down so he could kiss him gently on the crown of his head. “Have fun,” he said, releasing him. “Have fun, and be safe.”

Frodo hadn’t known a lot of casual touch before he came to live with his uncle. Bilbo had made it clear that he was a touchy fellow, but that he wouldn’t surprise Frodo, and would always ask first. Frodo was beginning to think that maybe he was a bit touchy, too. 

“Thank you, uncle.” He said, smiling. “I will.”

The walk to Sam’s apartment wasn’t long, and before Frodo had time to truly work himself into a fit over what he was about to do, he was outside of his door. He knocked, twice, and took a deep steadying breath, trying to count to ten like his therapist had advised. The door opened, and Sam stood in the doorway, grinning like he could light up the sun.

“Hi!” He exclaimed. “I’m so glad you could make it.” 

“Me too.” 

“Oi! Get him out of the doorway we want to look at the wee fellow!” Called a voice from within the apartment. Sam rolled his eyes good naturedly, and Frodo felt a hint of the butterflies return. Sam beckoned him in. 

“I’d apologize for my friends, but this is how they are 24/7.” He informed him, as Frodo took off his shoes and surveyed the small apartment. It was homier than any student housing he’d ever seen. There seemed to be plants on every single surface, and where there weren’t plants, there were baked goods, bits of needle and thread, crochet projects, heaps of yarn, and books. It smelled like coffee and sugar, and Frodo was taken in immediately. The television looked second hand, as did the couch, which was massive, already occupied, and cushioned to high heavens. Frodo grinned. 

“Hello, Frodo!” said one of the men on the couch. He waved a bit. The pair sat on one side of the couch, thoroughly entangled with one another. The one who had spoken was dirty blonde, with wavy hair and freckles, and the other had bright blue eyes and a smile that looked like it contained more mischief than was healthy, but no malice. “I’m Merry!” Merry made no effort to untangle himself, but held out a hand, which Frodo shook. “This idiot is Pippin.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, you’re practically famous!” Pippin assured him, waving. 

“It’s good to meet you.” Frodo said, and found he actually meant it. New people made him nervous, but something about the unapologetic chaos of the two put him at ease. 

“Let Sam play host before he explodes, he’s been baking all day.” Pippin said, and Frodo turned to indeed find Sam looking delighted if slightly nervous at the entryway to the kitchen. Frodo grinned.

“Would you like a beer? We’re gonna have some but if you don’t want I’ve also got lemonade, and sparkling water, and just regular water, obviously. I made chocolate covered pretzels and cupcakes as well.” Sam was loading a plate for him already, which made Frodo blush.

“You never bake when we come over, Sam! It’s not fair to play favorites!” Pippin called, and Sam shook his head, laughing. Sam grabbed two beers from the refrigerator, looking at Frodo, who thought for a beat, then nodded, smiling. 

Sam bustled, opening the beers, handing Frodo’s to him, then hurrying back into the living room, setting the plate down on the coffee table. Frodo paused, utterly baffled as to where he was meant to sit. His hands went to the buttons on his shirt cuff, fiddling nervously. Merry looked at his hands and up to his face, eyebrows furrowed. 

“We’re big on cuddling here, if you want to sit on the couch. If not, that’s okay.” He informed him, and Frodo felt a wave of relief wash over him. 

“Oh!” He said, cheeks still tinged pink. “Thank you.” He sat down on the couch as Sam flicked on the TV.

“We’re doing some Disney tonight, unless you have any suggestions?” Pippin informed him, looking up.

“That sounds perfect.” Frodo replied. He looked at the pair of them. “I’m glad to meet Sam’s friends.” He tried not to sound as rehearsed. “You make a cute couple-have you been together long?” The pair looked at each other and burst out laughing. Frodo blushed again, wondering what he’d missed.

“We’re not a couple.” Merry informed him.

“Not romantically at least.” Pippin continued.

“We just are generally happier with each other-”

“Than anyone else.” 

“Ah.” Frodo said, nodding.

“It’s okay if it doesn’t make sense.” Sam interjected, settling into his own seat on the other side of Frodo. “They’re a force to be reckoned with.” Frodo thought for a moment.

“No, that...that makes sense.” He smiled.

“I knew I liked you!” Merry insisted, pulling him into their strange embrace, Frodo laughed, actually laughed out loud, as he fell into them. Sam felt like he’d climb mountains and ford rivers in order to hear that sound again. 

They watched movies, drank beer, joked, laughed, and Frodo felt more comfortable than he could remember feeling in a long time. He melted into the couch, melted into Sam, melted into Merry and Pippin, and he felt so at home, so liked, so at ease, that he almost forgot to be anxious.

****************************************

Gimli arrived at the coffee shop late. He was meant to meet Aragorn and Legolas there ten minutes prior, but they both knew him well enough to know he’d be a bit late to gatherings such as these. Kili, the heavily tattooed barista, knew his order by heart by now. He paid him, grinning at him as he accepted his double shot of espresso, before turning and surveying the cafe.

“Ah, your friend’s in the back corner, Dr. Gloinson.” Kili informed him, and Gimli nodded. He made his way in the direction he’d pointed. He located the pretentious, long blonde hair soon enough, and pulled the chair back with a screech when he reached the table.

“Greenleaf.” He said, instead of a proper greeting.

“Gloinson.” The other man returned with a level of disdain that Gimli really ought to have anticipated, but never failed to put his teeth on edge. “Aragorn won’t be joining us today.”

Gimli had half a mind to get up and leave right then and there. He’d rather not spend the next half an hour being lectured on the benefits of cleansing, or how to eat sustainably, or whatever else the man could think of. Still, he liked Legolas, in a grudging sort of way, and he was going to be the bigger person even if Legolas stood slightly taller than him. 

“What’s the matter with him?” He grunted, raising his eyebrows.

“It seems he’s been waylaid by students.” 

“That does tend to happen.” Gimli replied, and very nearly saw the ghost of a grin flit across Legolas’s face. 

“I’ve heard your students avoid you like the plague because your lectures are far too boring.” Legolas snarked at him. Gimli couldn’t help but take the bait.

“I’ve heard your students avoid you because they’re afraid you’ll never stop talking once you get started.” He retorted. Not his best comeback, but to be fair, he had actually heard that.

“I’d rather be long winded than a bore.”

“What a shame that you turned out to be both.” Gimli was gaining ground, Legolas scowled. 

“I’m still taller than you.” Legolas had him there, Gimli had to admit. He took a sip from his drink, and watched as Gimli did the same.

“What have you got there, then?” Gimli asked, looking at the to-go cup. It was rare that Legolas used anything that couldn’t be reused, and rarer still that he got anything other than green tea, but Gimli couldn’t see the tea bag hanging from the cup, or any evidence of it on the table. Legolas turned pink, a shade that, if Gimli were being honest, suited him rather nicely. 

“I, um.” Legolas looked shifty. “Nothing unusual!” He insisted, putting the cup down and turning it so that the writing on the cup was covered. Gimli raised his eyebrows, his mustache and beard bristling. If Legolas was an honest sort, he’d admit that the spark in Gimli’s brown eyes when he was onto something was utterly charming.

“Yes, of course.” Gimli relied. “You’re not acting unusual at all.” Legolas looked away, attempting to look anywhere but at the man seated opposite him. He seemed to be suddenly fascinated with the caddy of sugar that sat on the table. “If you don’t tell me I will assume it’s just straight whiskey in there.” Legolas blanched. And, finally, guiltily, turned the cup so that Gimli could inspect the scrawled order. “A mocha latte, extra chocolate, extra whipped cream?!” Gimli burst into laughter.

“I hardly think-” Legolas retorted, but couldn’t quite think of anything clever enough to say, having been so thoroughly caught out.

“I hardly think there’s anything cleansing about that!” Gimli laughed. “Finally! Now I know you’re actually human.”

“Don’t tell Aragorn.” Legolas insisted. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” Gimli allowed, taking a deep breath. 

“I suppose you’re very pleased with yourself.” Legolas looked like he didn’t know whether to be put out or to join in the fun. Gimli took pity on him. He reached across the table to clap Legolas on the shoulder. 

“Greenleaf, I don’t think I’ve ever liked you more than I do right now.” Legolas smiled, as though this was a personal triumph.


	7. Old Took's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to watch so much bagginshield today but I watched LOTR with my gf and their friends last night and I ended up thinking too much about Thorin and Bilbo whoops

Bilbo fussed with his reflection in the mirror. Did he look too stuffy? Not stuffy enough? Should he look more formal? Should he change waistcoats? He checked his phone, no texts, no calls. 

He’d told Frodo that he was going out this evening, but to text him or call him the second he needed anything. Frodo had looked befuddled, but accepted those terms before heading out himself. He and his friends were going out to dinner and were set to watch some terrible reality tv, so he’d be plenty busy. Bilbo was free to go out and see to his own social life. Still, he worried. Frodo had had such a rough go of it, and while Bilbo was thrilled to see him socializing, making friends, he was still concerned. 

Bilbo checked his watch, passed down by his own father, and huffed. Thorin was late, and Bilbo was worried. Had something happened? Had he decided he wasn’t keen on this date after all? Bilbo paced, getting more nervous by the second. Finally, blessedly, there was a sharp knock on the door, a full ten minutes after their agreed upon time. 

He bolted to the door, and threw it open. And-’oh...oh heavens.’ Bilbo nearly squeaked out loud. Thorin looked...remarkable. His deep blue flannel under a gorgeous leather jacket, stretched just a bit over his toned arms, and brought out a sparkle in his eye that Bilbo hadn’t noticed at the parlour. His dark jeans scuffed the top of massive boots, and his long hair was tied back in a bun. Bilbo took him in, rather shamelessly.

“Oh!” Bilbo said, taking a step back as if physically blown away by Thorin’s appearance in his doorway. Thorin grinned. For his part, he was also struggling a bit with speech. Bilbo looked gorgeous, his curly hair looking soft enough to die for, his waistcoat and trousers perfectly pressed, his shoes shined. Thorin wanted to ruffle him. 

“I’d say I’m sorry for being late, but it happens all the time.” Thorin said by way of an introduction. Bilbo had to fight back a shiver. Really. Did the man have any right to have a voice like that?

“It’s quite alright.” Bilbo said, “I’m excessively punctual, so I suppose that evens things out.” He grinned. 

“Shall we?” Thorin asked, gesturing behind him. Bilbo nodded, suddenly realizing how incredibly awkward it was to just be standing in the doorway. He grabbed his keys, checked his phone once more, and locked the door behind him.

“I thought we’d walk, if you’d like.” Bilbo said, nervously. He fidgeted with his hands. 

“I’d like that very much.” Thorin assured him. The place Bilbo had in mind was right around the corner, and a favorite of his. The restaurant, Old Took’s, was cozy and comfortable. Bilbo had known the owner for years, and he was something of a regular. Bilbo led the way out of the building and onto the street. He shivered, it was beginning to get colder in the evenings, but Bilbo preferred sweaters to coats.

He hurried them along, and they chatted. Thorin had gotten lost on his own walk over, despite realizing that they lived only a short walk away from each other. Bilbo had finished writing for the day early, and had gone to the market. Thorin watched as the tips of Bilbo’s ears and nose turned pink in the chilly night air. 

Old Took’s wasn’t busy, and they were seated right away. Bilbo checked his phone a final time before sitting down. Thorin noticed. They ordered their drinks, an ale for Thorin, and a negroni for Bilbo, and Thorin let Bilbo get comfortable before he asked.

“Is everything alright?” Bilbo was startled. Had he really looked so nervous? He looked across the candle-lit table at Thorin. 

“What do you mean?” He replied, curiously.

“You seem to be anxious about getting a call.” Thorin observed, and Bilbo blushed. Thorin watched the red color on his cheeks. Bilbo sighed.

“Actually, I’m a little worried about my nephew.” He admitted, surprising himself. Thorin smiled. “He’s out with some friends tonight, and I told him to text or call if he needed anything.” 

“He lives with you?” Thorin asked, and Bilbo nodded. “My two nephews live with me, too.” Relief flooded Bilbo’s veins. “They study at the university, and they help out at the shop sometimes.”

“Two? I can barely handle worrying about one!” Bilbo threw up his hands. 

“Fili and Kili take care of themselves, they’re fairly self sufficient, if a little co-dependent.” Thorin informed him, honest to a fault. Bilbo nodded. “Their mother would kill me if anything happened to them, but they don’t have a filter, so I know everything that goes on with them.” 

“Frodo’s quiet, he’s always been quiet.” Bilbo said. “I’d hoped he’d share more.”

“Perhaps he will.” Thorin smiled at him so warmly that Bilbo’s worries seemed to vanish for a moment. He sighed, contentedly.

“You’re probably right.”

Their conversation moved on to other matters as they drank and ate to their hearts’ content. Bilbo told Thorin about his large and loud family, about their hometown, about how they’d grown apart after a while, but could call upon each other for help at the drop of a hat. Thorin told Bilbo about his small family, but wide circle of friends who were, for all intents and purposes, family at this point. Bilbo laughed at his descriptions of them. 

“I’d like to meet them.” He said, eyes alight and beaming.

“I’m sure you will.”

After their meal, Thorin attempted to swipe the bill from under Bilbo’s nose, but he was quicker, stealing it back smoothly. 

“You’ll have to be quicker to catch a Baggins.” He teased, and Thorin grinned. 

Before they left the restaurant, Thorin handed Bilbo his jacket. 

“Oh, no, I couldn’t!” Bilbo insisted.

“It’s even colder now than it was when we left, and while it is cute to watch them turn pink, I don’t think you want your ears to freeze off. Besides, I run warm.” Bilbo blushed furiously, but allowed Thorin to help him into his coat. Thorin was also blushing, having never used the word “cute” before in his life.

They took a few steps outside, and Bilbo was instantly delighted by the jacket. It smelled like Thorin, and he inhaled deeply, fiddling with the zipper pulls and the cuffs. Thorin grinned, and took his hand. Bilbo did squeak audibly this time, but brought himself closer to Thorin, their arms pressed against each other as they began the walk back to Bilbo’s apartment.

Outside of the door to his apartment, Bilbo tried to return the jacket, but Thorin shook his head.

“Keep it, you can give it back to me next time.” Bilbo beamed at him, and Thorin smiled back, head in the clouds. “If you’d like?”

“I’d like that very much.” Bilbo pulled out his keys. “This is normally the part where I’d invite you in for coffee, but I’m a little wary.” 

He was about to launch into an overly detailed explanation of all of the flaws with that sort of plan at this exact moment, when Thorin leaned down and kissed him gently. Bilbo promptly melted, deepening the kiss and breathing into it. When they parted, rather than letting go of him, Thorin held him at arm’s length for a moment, gazing at him before enveloping him into an embrace. Bilbo let himself be held, allowing Thorin to wrap around him. 

“We have plenty of time for all that.” Thorin assured him, whispering into his ear. “I’ll call you.” 

He pulled away, and Bilbo took the opportunity to reach up on tip-toes and kiss Thorin once more. 

“Please do.”

***************************************

Bilbo ended up falling asleep in his armchair waiting for Frodo to return. In the morning, he woke up to an ache in his back and his nephew coming through the door with two coffee cups in hand. Frodo caught his eye, and Bilbo raised his eyebrows.

“I hope you’ve been out causing trouble.” Bilbo said, as Frodo smiled.

“Have you been there all night?” He asked, concern darkening his blue eyes. Bilbo was touched, if a little insulted.

“Well, not ALL night.” He insisted. “Did you stay over with someone?”

“I thought you’d be glued to your phone.” Bilbo sat up, immediately regretting it as his back protested. He reached into the pocket of his robe. Sure enough, there was a text from Frodo letting him know that he’d be home in the morning.

“Thank you for letting me know, I must have fallen asleep and missed it.” He said, honestly. Frodo nodded. He crossed the room and put one of the cups down on the side table next to Bilbo’s chair, and sat on the opposite couch with his own cup. 

“It’s earl grey.” He informed him, and Bilbo sipped it gratefully.

“You’re a good man, Frodo.” Bilbo informed him, and Frodo smiled. “I didn’t realize you drank coffee.” Frodo blushed.

“It’s hot chocolate.” He admitted, and Bilbo chuckled. Something seemed to catch Frodo’s eye as he took a sip, his brow furrowed. 

“What is it?” Bilbo asked, getting comfortable and about to set to work on his tea. Frodo nodded at the jacket which Bilbo may or may not have used as a blanket.

“Is that yours?” Frodo asked, chuckling. “First a tattoo, and now a leather jacket? Uncle, are you having a midlife crisis?” Bilbo laughed, more delighted to hear Frodo joke about something than anything else.

“It would be a little late for that, don’t you think?” He asked, feigning grouchiness. “If you must know it belongs to a friend of mine.” Frodo nodded, knowingly.

“Someone you might like, perhaps?” He asked, echoing Bilbo’s inquiry about Sam. Bilbo waved off the question. This was one of the first times Frodo hadn’t simply disappeared into his room in quite a long while, and Bilbo wanted to take advantage of it.

“You’ll see eventually.” He smiled. Frodo settled. “How was it last night?”

“It was nice, pizza, TV, the usual.” Frodo said, smiling. “I like Sam’s friends.” Bilbo nodded. “They make me feel like I’m a part of the group. I suppose I am, now.” 

“Any drinking?” He asked, and Frodo nodded. “You know you have to be careful.”

“I am, uncle, I promise.” Bilbo nodded.

“I trust you.” They were quiet for a moment, sipping their drinks. “How are you feeling?” Bilbo asked, and Frodo looked at him. His blue eyes were so large and so guarded at times. Now, though, Bilbo could see right into them.

“Good, I think.” Frodo said, rubbing his arm. “I mean, better, I suppose.” Bilbo nodded. “Thank you, Bilbo.” 

“What on earth for?”

“For asking.” Frodo said. “Nobody used to ask.” Bilbo’s broken heart ached. 

“Always, my boy.” He assured him. 

“Thank you for going out last night.” Frodo said in a rush. Bilbo looked puzzled. “It makes me feel like...like you trust me.” Bilbo nodded, and opened his mouth to respond, but Frodo continued. “But thank you for waiting up, too.” Bilbo melted, smiling at his nephew. Frodo grinned back at him.

“Of course.”


End file.
